


so familiar a gleam

by passing-fanciful (kageygirl)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3492779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageygirl/pseuds/passing-fanciful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patience has never been Emma's strong suit--the way she grew up, if you wanted something, you had to grab it before it was gone.  But Killian's not going anywhere, and for him, she's learning to wait.</p>
<p>Spoilers for 4x12.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so familiar a gleam

His hook slides around her wrist, the metal cool against her skin as it arrests the movement of her hand--the hand that had been creeping up his thigh underneath the table at Granny's front booth. "Easy, Swan," he says softly, angling his beer mug to block his mouth from the view of the table's third occupant. "We have company."

Company who's currently lost in her own thoughts, or maybe judging the quality of the wine in her glass--actually, considering that it's Regina, she's probably multitasking and doing both--but Emma takes his point (so to speak). She hadn't actually been _trying_ to make it to second base or anything; she'd just been intending to say hi, but apparently her subconscious had other ideas.

"Sorry," she mumbles, feeling her cheeks burn, but the bright glance he gives her under his brows says he's anything but unhappy with her interest.

She lets him draw her hand safely away from temptation, though once it clears the tabletop, she turns her wrist over to wrap her fingers around his hook. He blinks at her, as he does every time she touches it, his surprised grin meeting her own growing smile.

He takes a drink, but his eyes never leave hers, gleaming over the rim of his mug. She takes a sip of her own wine, meeting him look for look--and, yeah, they make eyes with the best of them; she can't really argue about that any more.

A sharp clink interrupts the moment. "And that's about all I can stomach."

She starts, looking across at Regina. There's no real annoyance in her eyes, but she's pushing away from the table, leaving her mostly full glass behind. She smiles thinly at Emma and says, "You may be content with glorified grape juice, but next time there's a monster, I'll bring the bottle."

She walks across the diner, joining Henry at the counter, and Killian chuckles. "The more things change," he says, but there's an adorable shyness in the curl of his mouth and the pinking of his cheeks that fascinates Emma. It's a look she wants to remember, and she decides to add it to the growing collection in her head, recommiting herself to some uninterrupted, quality staring.

* * *

"Don't let him stay up all night with the book," Emma says later, pointing her chin at the door, where Henry's huddled with David under an umbrella, trying to keep the storybook dry on their way to the pick-up truck.

"You're not coming with us?" Her mom pauses in the act of preparing to open her own umbrella, her forehead creasing as she frowns at Emma.

"I'm just going to say good night," Emma says, unable to keep from glancing at Killian, who's already said his goodbyes and has left her to hers, carrying their dirty glasses to the kitchen. She feels her cheeks warm as she looks back at her mom, but she holds her gaze as she plays her hole card. "And since I'm both an adult and _not_ asking why you guys were late and acting kind of weird tonight, I figure I don't need to explain any more than that."

"Of--of course," her mom says, looking down at her umbrella. "Good night," she says, giving Emma a quick hug without meeting her eyes, before scooting out the door after David and Henry.

Emma stands there for a moment, bemused, trying to figure out whether she actually managed to scandalize her pretty unflappable mom, or if something else is going on. 

She loses her train of thought when a hand brushes her lower back. "All right, love?"

She turns into him, into the curve of his arm, letting her hands fetch up against the leather of his jacket and feeling warmth all along the line of their bodies. "Pretty good," she says, smiling up at him. "It's been kind of a day, huh?"

"Aye," he says, shaking his head. "To be expected for the savior, I'm sure, but I know how you've been enjoying the peace and quiet lately."

"I don't know." She curls her fingers, feeling the grain of the leather under her nails. "There's something to be said for a little excitement."

"Like a _hellbeast_ ," he says, a world of dubiousness in the tilt to his head.

"Okay, maybe not _that_ exciting." She gives him a one-shouldered shrug, so as not to dislodge the arm he's still got wrapped around her. "Still, with everything going on..." she says, wetting her lips, watching the way his gaze flicks down to her mouth, "maybe I should walk you to your room." She pats him on the chest with one hand, two tiny little thumps. "Just to be safe."

"There's no safer hands I'd rather be in," he says, brushing his hand down her back so that he can palm her hip. She studies his face--while he's not at all hesitant, he's still not… _eager_... so she takes a breath as she takes his hand, tugging him towards the hall and the staircase. 

If someone had told Emma a couple of months ago that _she_ would be the one waiting for _Captain Hook_ to be ready--shit, she would probably _still_ be laughing.

But he seems to want to take it slow.

She'd have to be blind not to see how legitimately upset he's been over what Gold made him do, how tense and miserable it's been making him, the pain that subsides but doesn't entirely vanish when she's around. If only she could make him see that no one but a hero would worry like that over something that wasn't his fault, would spend so much time agonizing over a mistake--

\--but they're both works in progress, after all.

So she waits. 

She wants him to be as ready to take this step as she is--and she is _so_ ready, cold showers and distractions starting to lose their power over her libido. It's only because this matters so much-- _he_ matters so much--that Emma's managed to rein in her natural impatience.  
Her awkward living situation has actually helped out some, there, too.

But now the fairies are out of the hat, and soon they'll get the old man out, too, she's sure of it, and, well. 

Not for nothing, but she might've taken to having condoms in her pockets at all times. Just in case.

When they stop in front of his door, she gives his hand a squeeze. "There you go," she says. "Door-to-door service." She frowns. "Or--diner-to-door, or--something."

"I'm in your debt, Swan," he says, and doesn't get a chance to lean down to kiss her, because she presses up to kiss him instead.

Now, this, this she could do for hours. He's sweet, and so careful, like she might run at any moment. She doesn't know how to tell him she's done running from him, except like this, except by staying, except by trading looks and touches and kisses until he _knows_ , knows about her like she knows about him.

That this is _it_ for her.

And she's trying so hard to be good, she really is, but she might still be amped up from the day they've had. She ends up pressing him into the wall next to his door, hands under his jacket and trying to sneak under his vest, too--until he sucks in a breath and pulls away. "Your parents will be waiting for you," he says, his voice low, enticing and a little bit tortured. It takes her a moment to process the words, because he's looking at her with pupils blown wide and lips kissed red, and her higher functions aren't really functioning right now. 

_Let 'em wait_ , she almost says, but something stops her, the same instinct that's been stopping her for six weeks now. The instinct that says it would be good--hell. it would be _mind-blowing_ \--but it wouldn't be right for him.

Not just yet.

So instead, she brushes a hand over his cheek, savoring the warmth of his skin. "Good night, Killian," she whispers, and leaves, not letting herself look back, because self-control has its limits.

Lucky for her, the loft has an endless supply of cold water.


End file.
